


Wildflowers

by Rosaliss



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Established Relationship, Fluff, Fluff without Plot, M/M, that's it that's all there is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-17
Updated: 2019-03-17
Packaged: 2019-11-21 11:42:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18141740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rosaliss/pseuds/Rosaliss
Summary: Sometimes you need to take a break from politics and enjoy a quiet afternoon in the countryside. Sometimes you need to take a break from the wrongs of life and read some mindless fluff.





	Wildflowers

**Author's Note:**

> The document was saved with the title "Mindless fluff" and I think that's all you need to know about this story.

Grantaire knew life was terrible. Humans were cruel, irredeemable creatures; the world an empty wasteland; the future hopeless.

Sometimes, he needed to forcibly remind himself of the good things life had given him—because yes, life was brutal, but it had given him gifts, too, and he had to remember, to use them as an anchor. His friends, nights spent talking about everything and nights spent laughing about nothing, the delicate notes drawn from a piano, the playful chords of a guitar, the soothing purr of a cat, the joyful wiggle of a dog’s tail. The green of a field on a spring afternoon, the smile on Enjolras’s face, his soft blond curls under Grantaire’s fingers.

Enjolras wouldn’t have admitted it, but it was plain as day that he was exhausted. University, the internship, the ABC business, they were more work that any person should do, and, though he did everything he needed to do with diligence and passion and wouldn’t have changed anything, they were draining. Grantaire was aware of that, way more than Enjolras was. Enjolras wasn’t one to take a break, wasn’t prone to dwell on the pleasures of life, and Grantaire had decided that, as his boyfriend, it was his rightful duty to make sure that Enjolras stopped every now and then to at least breathe.

That was the reason why they were sprawled in a green field on a spring afternoon, Enjolras smiling lazily and Grantaire running a hand through his boyfriend’s soft blond hair. A trip to the countryside was a rare thing, but it was good for both of them. Enjolras could relax; Grantaire could find an anchor.

Grantaire continued petting Enjolras’s hair and watched him as he closed his eyes and drifted off. He sat upright, shifting Enjolras—careful not to wake him—so that his head was resting on Grantaire’s lap. Keeping one hand tangled in the mass of hair, he used the other to support his own weight and threw back his head to look at the sky. Grantaire admittedly preferred rainy days or, better yet, snow, but he had to recognize that the blue sky and the warmth of the sun weren’t that bad. He could get used to them.

After a while, Grantaire picked up a fallen leaf that was lying next to them and put it on Enjolras’s cheek. When nothing happened, he smiled softly to himself and picked up a small piece of twig and put it next to the leaf. Enjolras stirred in his light sleep and lift a hand to get rid of the objects on his face. Grantaire’s smile widened. He grabbed a little spring and laid it down on Enjolras’s cheek. Enjolras lifted his hand again and brushed it off with a sleepy movement of his fingers. Grantaire chuckled and repeated the act once more.

“Can you stop?” Enjolras asked.

Grantaire laughed out loud. This time, when he reached out to the grass surrounding them, he picked a dandelion, and, instead of positioning it on Enjolras’s cheek, he dragged it lightly on his face, following the lines of his mouth, his nose, his eyebrows, eyelids, eyelashes. Enjolras finally fluttered his eyes open with a groan.

Grantaire watched him fondly. “I didn’t want to wake you.”

“Liar.”

“Ah, you doubt me?” Grantaire said with a mocking tone.

“You’re the one who insisted on taking a day off in the first place,” Enjolras said. “I told you I was fine.”

“You need some rest every so often. How are you going to get anything done if you’re constantly tired? How do you plan on leading a revolution if you can’t stand on your feet?”

“Don’t mock me. I’m not planning a revolution.”

“We both know you are, even if maybe of a different kind than the ones that move armies—though I wouldn’t be too surprised to see you with a rifle in hand. A new French revolution. Just do me a favour, love, and make it less bloody.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

Enjolras hadn’t moved from his spot on Grantaire’s tights and had closed his eyes again, which made Grantaire giggle.

“It seems to me that you like this. Therefore, out of the two of us, you’re the liar.”

“I’m not.”

“Yes you are.”

“Whatever.”

“Sometimes you need to take a break from politics and enjoy a quiet afternoon in the countryside. Nothing wrong with that.”

Grantaire stopped playing with the flower and set it behind Enjolras’s ear. He took a moment to admire how well it went with Enjolras’s hair, bright yellow surrounded by gold; it was almost too much light.

“You know, some say that Theseus, under Hecale’s suggestion, ate only dandelions for thirty days before he confronted the Minotaur, to gain enough strength and defeat him. That’s ‘cause the dandelion has many nutritional properties, and also some medical properties.”

“Fascinating,” Enjolras said with a yawn. Then he frowned. “That came out wrong. I really mean it, it’s fascinating. I love it when you tell me these stories.”

Grantaire grinned. “You’re lucky, then, because I know an awful lot,” he said, and then he proceeded to tell a drowsy Enjolras about Theseus and Ariadne, Ariadne and Dionysus, Theseus and Pirithous, the Argonauts. Some of the myths Enjolras already knew, some he didn’t, some he’d simply forgotten. He listened nonetheless.

A group of clouds passed in front of the sun, covering it for a while. They were white, fluffy, and moved like they were weary, like they were dragging themselves against their own will, like they, too, needed rest. They drew funny sketches made of shadows on the field.

“Wouldn’t you like to paint this landscape?” Enjolras asked, tilting his head to look Grantaire in the eye.

“I wouldn’t mind painting you.”

Enjolras scoffed. “You already did. Many times, if memory serves me right.”

“Countless times, but that doesn’t change anything. I’ll never get tired of painting you.”

“I hope you won’t.” Enjolras smiled and raised a hand to lace his fingers with Grantaire’s.

“Of course I won’t. How could I? You’ll see. I’ll fill our home with your face. Oils, charcoal drawings, photos, even sculptures. And then, when there’ll be no space left in our flat, I’ll fill our friends’ houses. I’m sure they’ll be happy to see you every day when they wake up. And then I’ll fill the streets, the squares, the public buildings. And, at that point, it will make sense, because you’ll be the leader of the revolution.”

“You’re ridiculous,” Enjolras blurted, hitting Grantaire jokingly and making him laugh. “Don’t tease me.”

“Why? What are you going to do if I don’t stop?”

“Shut up, R.”

“Make me.”

“Another time, I’d have accepted your invitation, but right now I’m too comfortable to do so. You’ll have to shut up yourself.” And he snuggled into his legs, ignoring Grantaire’s increasing laugh that was shaking the both of them.

Grantaire knew life was terrible. But sometimes, with Enjolras’s head on his lap and the tepid sunlight kissing his cheeks, it was hard to remember.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading if you did. I hope it made you smile at least a little bit. Have a good day!


End file.
